


(Don't You Want To) Live With Me

by Farasha



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Power Imbalance, Redated due to Edits, Revised Version
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-29 18:11:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12090585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farasha/pseuds/Farasha
Summary: Yuri has rules when it comes to clients: no regulars, no attachments, no marks, and the price is non-negotiable.Viktor breaks all of his rules.





	(Don't You Want To) Live With Me

**Author's Note:**

> Edited author's note: Sometimes when you don't get it right the first time, the writer brain won't leave you alone until you fix it. The previous version of this fic lacked edits and a unifying thread. An immense thank you to Foxfireflamequeen for helping me find it.
> 
> Please see the end for spoilery details about minor off-page character death.

St. Petersburg was still chilly at night into the late spring. The fishnet tights Yuri wore underneath his worn cutoffs did nothing to protect against the chill. It was a humid night, making Yuri's hair frizz everywhere and threatening to rain, and on top of that, the client was dumb and foreign and _arguing_ with him.

"I already told you the price," he said, glaring up at the guy. He was greasy, and his Russian was shit, so they were speaking a pidgin of Russian and English. "You want me to suck your dick, you pay me 2500."

"I could get cheaper back home," Greasy said, scowling at him.

"You want cheaper, pay a cheaper whore," Yuri snapped. "2500. Or thirty-five Euro, if you have that. Otherwise you get lost."

Greasy grabbed him by the front of his too-thin, tacky shirt, wrenching him away from the wall he was leaning on. "Listen you little punk-"

He cut off on a noise like a rat being stepped on, staring in disbelief at Yuri's smile, only a little less sharp than the knife he had snugged up against the guy's groin.

"No touching without paying," he said sweetly. Greasy let go of him, staggering a step back, his face going from red to purple. Yuri settled lightly on the balls of his feet. He knew how this could go.

The honk of a horn made them both look toward the mouth of the alley. Yuri's heart tripped on a beat in his chest, fluttering behind his ribs. He knew that sleek, ostentatious convertible.

The knife disappeared back into his pocket. "Your lucky day, cowboy. I don't have to cut you." Yuri walked out of the alley, hips swinging.

"Hey! I'm not done with you yet!" Greasy yelled, but he made no move to chase Yuri out into the light of the street.

Yuri turned around and flipped him off anyway. "He pays better," he said, and leaned down to prop his elbows on the car.

Viktor looked the same as he always did, even out here cruising for a fuck. His hair was perfectly combed, his face flawless even when it wasn't airbrushed for the cover of a magazine, and his eyes were so blue they looked like something out of a painting. Yuri had seen that face on a cheap television in Moscow at eight years old, skating in a competition of some kind. It was still surreal to see it in person, from inside his ridiculous car, like he was too famous to care who saw him.

He handed Yuri a wad of cash, a thick enough roll to be Yuri's overnight price. Yuri didn't bother to count it; Viktor always paid, and usually paid extra.

"Do I finally get to see your place?" Yuri asked, walking around the car to hop over the door into the passenger seat. Viktor shot him a look.

"You know I hate it when you do that," he said, but he put the car in gear and drove away from the dirty little corner Yuri worked on nights when it wasn't too cold to be out.

"Yeah," Yuri said, slouching down in the seat and hanging his arm out the window. The wind whipped his hair against his face. "Did you never think that I do it _because_ it pisses you off?"

"Brat," Viktor said, a chuckle in the back of his voice. Yuri tried to ignore how much it turned him on.

"You like it, otherwise you wouldn't keep coming back," he said, adjusting himself in his tight shorts.

Viktor laughed. "Maybe I keep coming back because you're a good fuck."

"You're Viktor fucking Nikiforov. People are falling all over themselves to give you a good fuck."

Viktor hummed, but he didn't answer, and Yuri didn't press. There were rules to this; Yuri didn't ask what Russia's favorite Olympian was doing picking up a street hooker, and Viktor didn't ask what Yuri was doing on a corner instead of working the hotel bars. It worked, a thin layer of professionalism over the top of something carnal and dirty, but there were weird parts about it, too. Yuri didn't have any other regulars, and he was pretty sure Viktor didn't pay to fuck anyone else. Yuri had seen pictures of Viktor's dog, and Viktor had seen the one battered snapshot of Potya that Yuri still carried with him, but neither knew where the other lived. 

"I got you something," Viktor said, and Yuri sat up, interested despite himself.

"You know, most people don't buy their hookers presents." Yuri didn't let that stop him from looking under his seat where Viktor had pointed. The bag was small, with sparkling tissue paper stuffed in the top.

"Don't worry about maintenance," Viktor said, which didn't make any sense until Yuri tossed the tissue paper aside, ignoring Viktor's grab for it as the wind caught it and swept it out of the car.

Yuri was too busy staring down into the bottom of the bag, a thousand different thoughts tumbling over each other. It was an iPhone, new by the look of it, already wrapped in a flashy case with a tiger on the back. Yuri had only mentioned liking tigers once.

"What the hell is this?" Yuri flipped the phone over. It was on, and when he swiped across the lock screen, there was a picture of the battered photograph of Potya as the background. "When did you get a picture?"

"Last time, while you were sleeping," Viktor said. "I thought you'd like it."

_Like it_ , Viktor said, like Yuri wasn't holding the most expensive thing he'd ever owned in his hand. Even when his grandfather had still been alive and he'd lived in a tiny flat in Moscow instead of a shitty hotel in St. Petersburg, he'd never had a phone of his own. His grandfather had owned an old flip phone.

"What, so you can call for ass whenever you want?" Yuri tapped buttons, trying to figure out what everything did, unwilling to admit he was lost when faced with the touch screen.

"You mentioned seeing my place," Viktor said instead of answering. "That's where we're going."

Alarm bells went off in the back of Yuri's head. He looked up from the phone and over at Viktor, who was watching the road like he hadn't said anything unusual.

"How are you going to explain your hooker to the doorman?" Yuri's tone was probably more vicious than it needed to be, but this was not safe territory. This wasn't their arrangement. Viktor had bought him things before, but it had all been things for Yuri to wear, for Viktor to admire and then take off of him again. This was... this felt like being kept.

"I'm Viktor fucking Nikiforov, remember?" Viktor winked at him. "Nobody will say anything if I pay them enough not to."

Yuri figured that was probably true. He didn't come cheap, especially not for overnight, but Viktor still showed up on his corner once or twice a week. Either Viktor had more money than God or he was spending what he did have on an expensive, barely-legal hooker. Yuri wasn't sure if that was a good thing. He'd had clients get possessive over him before, which is why he had a rule about regulars. He didn't mind fucking someone more than once as long as they didn't start coming around all the time.

Viktor was the exception. Viktor had always been the exception, ever since he'd first whistled at Yuri from his fancy car and made all of Yuri's half-forgotten preteen fantasies come true. Yuri knew he shouldn't let Viktor break all the rules, the ones he'd set to keep himself safe, but he couldn't help it. Viktor was kind, he always paid for good rooms with sheets that didn't give Yuri a rash, he never tried to argue about using condoms or about the price, and he was amazing in bed. For a regular client, Yuri could do a lot worse.

"Hotels getting too expensive for you, old man? Pretty soon you won't be able to afford me either."

Viktor glanced at Yuri out of the corner of his eye. "If you don't watch out, I may have to put you over my knee and teach you some manners."

Yuri hated how easily Viktor could make him blush. Viktor shouldn't be able to say anything to him he hadn't heard or done before, but it always sounded different from him.

"Like you could handle me," Yuri scoffed, propping his chin on his hand and staring out of his side of the car, ignoring the smug smile he could see on Viktor's lips when he glanced to the driver's seat.

Yuri tried to remember the turns, to keep track of where they were in the city. No matter how nice Viktor might seem, Yuri had known plenty of people who found out their nicest client wasn't so nice. They usually ended up dead.

Yuri hadn't spent four years surviving the streets to be taken in by a pretty face now.

Viktor's building didn't just have a doorman. As Yuri followed him through the lobby to the elevators, he saw signs boasting a rooftop pool, a lounge bar, and a fitness center. It was probably the most expensive place Yuri had ever been, and he could feel his shoulders creeping up to his ears, too aware of how badly he stuck out in his cheap heels and heavy eyeliner.

Viktor's hand came to rest on the small of his back, warm and possessive. Usually that kind of thing pissed Yuri off, but he let himself be tugged against Viktor's side as they waited for the elevator.

Yuri half-expected the elevator to go all the way to the penthouse, but they stopped a few floors down. Yuri wiped his palms on his shorts, trying not to seem nervous as he followed Viktor down the hall.

It was hard to remember to be on his guard when he was bowled over by a dog as soon as he walked into the flat. He staggered, not expecting the weight of paws on his chest, and fell back against Viktor.

"Makkachin, no! Bad girl, no jumping, you know better!" Viktor grabbed the dog by the collar, wrestling her down and fussing over her, cooing like he was talking to a baby. Yuri's chest squeezed, watching the two of them. Shit. This was dangerous in a lot of ways.

Viktor looked up at him, scratching Makkachin behind the ears. His face was soft like Yuri had never seen it, open and unguarded.

"I've never seen you smile before," Viktor said, and Yuri realized he was smiling, just as unguarded as Viktor.

"Shut up, don't take it personally just because your dog is cute," he said, fixing a scowl on his face and looking around at the rest of the flat.

It was big; the floor plan was open, and the kitchen had stainless steel counters. The furniture looked like the same chair over and over, lengthened into a sofa or dismantled into a barstool. He didn't see any pictures of Viktor or evidence of who he was, outside of the wealthy client that bought Yuri expensive shoes and frilly underwear sometimes. 

"This place is kind of boring," he said, thumbs hooked into the pockets of his shorts. "Is this why you brought me, so we could liven it up?"

Viktor looked just as eager as Yuri to move this along in their usual direction. He stepped into Yuri's space, pulling Yuri flush to his chest and making Yuri tip his head back to be kissed the way he always did. Yuri liked how Viktor kissed. He was deliberate but not slow, like he'd done it a million times and knew just how to make someone shiver, no need to waste time on building it up. He bit Yuri's lip because he knew Yuri liked it, his hands creeping down to grab Yuri's ass when Yuri opened his mouth over to let Viktor's tongue in.

Yuri had grown a couple of inches since he'd met Viktor. He wasn't sure how long that had been, with the way the days blurred into each other, but he figured it must have been a few months. It still didn't bring him anywhere close to Viktor's height, and when he grabbed Yuri underneath the thighs and lifted him up, Yuri could still wrap his legs around Viktor's waist and keep kissing him while Viktor staggered down the hall to his bedroom.

There wasn't any more personality in there than in the living room, just a neatly made bed, a dresser, and a nightstand that all matched. It was like someone had decorated Viktor's place for him. Yuri wondered if he was rich enough that someone had.

"Take your clothes off," Viktor said against his lips, and Yuri stepped away from him.

Viktor loved it when he teased. In all honesty, this was his favorite part, toying with the hem of his shirt, dragging it up his chest and back down, his weight shifting from one hip to the other like a slow metronome beat. Viktor's eyes were glued to his body, lingering over every inch of skin he revealed. Yuri didn't need to bend over to take off his shoes, but he did, letting the line of his calf extend and arching his back, crossing one foot in front of the other to make his ass look round and perfect for grabbing. He didn't let his weight off his toes for a moment after he stepped out of them, balanced on the balls of his feet. He let his hands stroke over the fishnet stockings as he stood straight, and threw Viktor a look over his shoulder through his lashes.

"Yura," Viktor groaned, listing sideways until he caught himself on the bed. He stared at the sway of Yuri's body to invisible music, his eyes on Yuri's fingers, dancing over the hem of his shirt one last time before he slowly tugged it off and threw it away. Yuri turned around to face Viktor again, dragging his hands down his neck, over his chest, just missing his pink nipples. Viktor liked to play with those, too, but this was a striptease, not an appetizer. Touching could wait.

Yuri had to wiggle to get out of the shorts, a little shimmy that worked them down over his hips. He stepped out of them delicately, still standing on tiptoe, now in only his stockings and the too-small pair of underwear that were all he could hide underneath those shorts. He was hard, his dick laughably contained by a tiny scrap of fabric.

"These too?" he asked, tugging at the elastic. Viktor reached out for him instead of answering, and Yuri stepped close, letting Viktor take him by the hips and pull him in until his knees bumped the edge of the bed.

Viktor bent down to kiss his stomach, gentle, nearly reverent. Yuri's hands hovered over Viktor's hair -- he'd been sure he was about to get a blowjob. Maybe he would still, but this was different than what he expected. This was a tone shift. Viktor looked up at him through those beautiful blue eyes, like frosted glass, or the sky in winter, and went back to peppering his skin with chaste kisses. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of Yuri's underwear and tugged, gently, pulling them down around Yuri's thighs before he licked the tip of Yuri's cock.

"Fuck," Yuri hissed, his hands falling to Viktor's hair, decision of what to do next made by the feel of Viktor's wet mouth on him. Yuri struggled for breath, thighs trembling to keep from cramming his dick right down Viktor's throat.

"Fuck," he said again, and pulled Viktor off by the hair. "Condom."

"Yura," Viktor said, his lower lip sticking out just a little, his blue eyes getting wider. He was pouting. Of all the ways a client had ever grumbled about using protection, they'd never pouted.

"Seriously, or I walk out right now. You know the rules."

Viktor fell back against the perfectly made bed, his hair fanning out around him in a silver halo. Yuri thought he was being ridiculous and dramatic, flopping back and forth on the bed until he got to the nightstand. It looked ridiculous. He snorted out part of a laugh before he could help himself, and Viktor looked up from fishing around in his nightstand drawer with delight in his eyes.

For a moment, everything screeched to an abrupt halt in Yuri's head. Yuri knew what an epiphany felt like. He'd had them before; when he was six and his mother didn't come to his birthday, he knew he could only rely on himself; when he was ten and his grandfather died, he knew he'd never get what he wanted; when he was twelve and the money ran out, he knew he had to survive somehow. As epiphanies went, this wasn't the worst one he'd ever had.

He _liked_ Viktor. Yuri liked his stupid blue eyes and his ridiculous smile, the way he said _Yura_ and the things he bought for Yuri that said he listened to what Yuri liked.

Viktor crawled back across the bed, still fully dressed. He tore open the condom and rolled it onto Yuri's cock, then plunged his mouth over it too, so suddenly that Yuri yelped and grabbed at Viktor's hair again.

"Holy shit," he squeaked, eyes rolling back in his head as Viktor sucked him right down to the base, his lips pressed against Yuri's pubic hair, his throat contracting around Yuri in a way that made Yuri's knees weak. He could count on one hand the number of times a client had bothered to give him a blowjob, and it had never been like this, like he was being devoured and worshipped all in one.

Yuri's toes dug into the carpet and his fingers twisted in Viktor's hair. It felt so good it was like Yuri was dreaming, like an imaginary best blowjob nobody ever actually got, and Yuri was talented at those. He usually made noise with clients, fake, overdone sounds that made them think they were doing it for him. This time, the choked-off little gasps and breathy curses were all him, no acting involved. It felt like too much, like he'd lost control.

He had to put the brakes on, no matter how much he liked Viktor. Reluctantly, he pulled Viktor's mouth off his cock with both hands on Viktor's jaw, bent down and kissed him and tasted latex.

"Aren't I supposed to be the one doing that for you?" he asked, putting on a seductive smile.

Viktor reached up and brushed Yuri's hair out of his face, his fingers slipping through the strands. "I thought I was paying you to do what I wanted."

It felt strange where it never had before, teasing each other about what their roles were. Letting Viktor fuck him had never been a chore, but this was something different than an anonymous hotel room booked on a credit card with who knows what kind of limit. This was Viktor's bed, where he slept every night -- if Yuri could even believe this place had a human living in it. Yuri wondered if he'd look like another pretty ornament, spread out over Viktor's expensive sheets.

"What do you want, then?" Yuri asked.

"Come here," Viktor said, reaching for him.

Yuri went, against his better judgment, laying on top of Viktor and making out with him lazily. Viktor's cock was hard against his thigh, but Viktor seemed like he wasn't in any rush to hurry things along. It felt like they were breathing together, panting in tandem, their kisses getting sloppier as Yuri started to get impatient.

"Why are you still dressed," Yuri grumbled, pulling Victor's shirt up as much as he could while they were still lying on the bed. It was just enough to get his palm on the warm skin of Viktor's stomach. Viktor sat up, their limbs tangling together as they struggled to get rid of his clothes. Yuri, with years of experience getting people naked, kept getting distracted by the caress of Viktor's fingertips on his or the little encouragements spilling from Viktor's mouth.

"Lube with the condoms?" he asked, after Viktor was finally naked. In the drawer Viktor nodded to, there was a half-used bottle of lube stashed next to a brand new box of condoms, only missing one -- the one on Yuri's dick. Yuri stared at it for a full second before grabbing another one. He turned back to Viktor, making to swing a leg over his torso. Viktor liked it when he was on top, so he could watch Yuri bouncing on his cock. Yuri liked it there too, so he figured it was win-win.

Viktor grabbed his thigh before he could do it, fingers almost tight enough to bruise. Yuri sat back on his heels, knocking Viktor's hand away. He knew the rules. No marks.

"I want you to fuck me," Viktor said.

"You what?" Yuri had already poured lube onto his fingers, ready to reach behind himself and get ready if Viktor wasn't going to do it for him. He froze, his torso half-twisted, one hand slick and the other braced on the bed for balance.

"It's about what I want, right?" Viktor spread his thighs, laid back against the ridiculous amount of pillows at the head of the bed. He stretched his arms above his head, laying out the lean lines of his body. Was he mimicking Yuri? He looked an awful lot like what Yuri imagined he did, spread out below a client.

No wonder they got obsessed with him so easily. Viktor was stunning.

"You really," Yuri said, not a question, not even half a statement. His fingers slipped easily between the cheeks of Viktor's ass. 

It wasn't as easy when Yuri started to actually finger him open. Viktor's mouth was open on long, loud moans as Yuri worked his hole loose, going slow and careful. It had been a long time, if Viktor was anything to go by, his heels slipping on the sheets and his ass clenching around Yuri every time he moved his fingers.

"Are you sure you can take me?" Yuri asked, smirking at him when Viktor's beautiful blue eyes flew open.

"You aren't that big," Viktor said breathlessly, and it startled Yuri into a laugh. He followed it up with a precise drive of his fingers into Viktor's body, striking his prostate dead on, making him cry out and push against the mattress, nearly writhing under Yuri's hands.

Yuri had gotten fucked a lot. It was the favorite of most clients, the ones that could afford to pay for more than just his mouth, anyway. They all liked to tell him what a good whore he was for taking their cock in his cute little ass, or how slutty he looked when he was stuffed full. He'd only fucked someone else a couple times. So when Viktor finally got done with being fingered and pulled at Yuri's biceps, tugging him down until he was right between Viktor's spread legs, his cock rubbing against Viktor's slick hole, his hand shook a little as he guided it inside.

"Oh," he gasped. Viktor was so tight it was unreal. Yuri couldn't even wait for him to get used to being filled, like he always griped about with clients. His hips were jerking, his fingers tight around Viktor's thighs, fucking Viktor in uneven movements while he tried to hold himself back.

"Yura, just give it to me," Viktor said, pulling him down into another messy kiss, half tongue and half puffs of hot breath.

Yuri took him at his word, concentrating on nothing else but fucking Viktor into the mattress as best as he could. Viktor took it like he'd been taking it his whole life, moaning almost as prettily as Yuri did when he fucked other clients. His hands were all over Yuri, touching his shoulders, his waist, the curve of his cheek, the sensitive peaks of his nipples. They wandered too close to Yuri's mouth and he caught Viktor's fingers in his teeth, sucking down to the knuckle as he pistoned his hips into Viktor.

Sometimes Viktor liked to stretch out their time, teasing Yuri until he thought he would scream and making Yuri hold his orgasm off as long as possible. Sometimes Viktor flipped him over and pounded him into the bed, coming like a car crash and then collapsing into a sweaty heap by Yuri's side.

Everything else was different this time, so maybe Yuri shouldn't have been surprised that Viktor's orgasm was different too. This time, he jerked himself off, writhing on Yuri's cock like a butterfly on a pin, half-slurred endearments and gasps of pleasure rolling off his tongue. He looked completely lost in it, almost like he'd forgotten he was still getting fucked.

Viktor went tight around Yuri's cock when he came, dripping onto his own stomach. He kept going through it, sensitivity making him twitch and squeeze around Yuri until he couldn't take it anymore either, slumping with his forehead on Viktor's breastbone as he filled up the condom, feeling like he was burning up all over.

It felt like it took forever for Yuri to catch his breath. Viktor made him roll over so he could strip off the condom, tie it off, and throw it away in the bathroom trash, but after that he joined Yuri in lying boneless in bed, staring at Viktor's white ceiling and blank grey walls.

"Why don't you have any pictures in here?" Yuri asked, after he felt like he could speak without his lungs exploding.

"Who would I have pictures of?" Viktor asked. Yuri wondered if he meant it to be as sad as it sounded.

"Your dog, at least," Yuri said, thinking of his well-worn wallet and the creased picture of Potya inside it.

"I didn't have time to take many pictures when she was growing up. I didn't have time for much of anything." Viktor scooted up the bed, pulling Yuri with him, tucking Yuri's back against his chest and nosing at the side of Yuri's neck. He got cuddly and affectionate like this every couple of weeks.

"You've got those, though," Yuri said, nodding at the one decoration he'd seen in the whole apartment. It was a shadowbox display, all of the medals Viktor had won. There were some silvers, and one or two bronze, but mostly gold. His Olympic gold medals were framed in the center of the wall. Yuri only recognized them because of the motif of Olympic rings engraved on the frame.

Viktor nuzzled at Yuri's neck, ignoring the statement. Yuri indulged him, because Viktor had paid for the night and because cuddling Viktor wasn't so bad. He showered, he kissed like he actually liked Yuri, and he didn't take any opportunity he had to grope Yuri's ass or his dick. He was already a thousand miles ahead of anyone else Yuri had fucked.

"I want to make you a proposition," Viktor said, tracing a light pattern on Yuri's stomach. "I'm not sure if you'll like it, but I want you to listen."

Yuri reluctantly slipped out of Viktor's arms. If they were going to talk about business, Yuri needed to not be distracted by how good he smelled and how nice it was to lean against him.

"You know all the rules," Yuri said. "Don't ask me to break any of them."

Viktor tried his usual flirty smile, but there was something else behind it. Something nervous. The warning bells Yuri had pushed aside in favor of sex and indulgence started to ring in the back of his mind again.

"I want you to stay for the week. Overnight, during the day, the whole time. I'll pay you," he added quickly, when Yuri took a quick breath, "your daily rate plus a bonus for not seeing anyone else while you're with me."

"The fuck?" Yuri asked, a wash of prickles crawling over his skin. "Did you bring me here to seduce me into being, what, your sugar baby or something?"

"Think of it like that if you want," Viktor said. "I'll pay you by the day. If you change your mind, go whenever you want."

"What about your friends? What will they say if they come over and your live-in hooker is here?" Yuri sounded harsh in his own ears. His head was swimming. This was the kind of thing he had always tried to guard himself against. "Don't tell me you're trying to save me."

"I don't think you need saving." Viktor sounded like he meant it. "And I don't have friends that come over to my place."

_Lonely_ , Yuri thought, and it clicked in the back of his head. Viktor was lonely. He wanted Yuri to stay because he wanted someone besides his dog. Yuri didn't know if that was sad or scary, to be someone's only human comfort.

No wonder Viktor paid him so much for overnights. No wonder Viktor kept buying him little presents, showering him in affection whenever they were together. Yuri might like his client, but his client was in _love_ with him.

"By the day," Yuri insisted. This was so much of a bad idea, he couldn't even find enough words to say what a bad idea it was. "And only for the week."

"One week, by the day," Viktor agreed. "You don't have to stay locked up in here. That's what the phone is for. Do what you want, and I'll text you when I'm on my way home from practice."

"So I can be here waiting for you?" Yuri asked. "Do you want me to call you _daddy_ too?"

"No," Viktor said, emphatic, his face twisted up like he'd swallowed something bitter.

"Okay, no daddy," Yuri said, privately relieved. He felt ridiculous when he did it.

Viktor looked over at the clock. "Do you need anything before you go to sleep?"

"Why, have to wake up early?" Yuri's night wasn't even halfway over, but Viktor did look tired. Yuri wondered how much sex they would even be having, if he was here while Viktor had practice and Viktor was tired at the end of the day.

"Come here," Viktor said, yanking the duvet out from under at least four decorative pillows, sending them all spilling to the floor. "The cleaning service hates when I do that. I don't know where they found all of these pillows, anyway. I think some of them were on the couch."

Viktor clicked the bedside lamp off. Yuri crawled underneath the blankets and let Viktor wrap him up in his arms. He let Viktor tuck him close and kiss the side of his neck like a lover, let Viktor drift off to sleep with Yuri struggling to stay awake in the dark quiet of the bedroom.

He must have fallen asleep eventually. Viktor was up before dawn the next morning, gone before the sun had peeked over the horizon. He'd left strong tea steeping in the kitchen for Yuri, a jar of jam with a spoon laid out beside it. Yuri spooned a little too much jam into his tea and drank it anyway. It had been so long since he'd taken his tea the way he liked it when he was small. Even if it made his teeth hurt now, Yuri allowed himself to indulge in memory.

Yuri spent the next day figuring out his phone, after the fourth or fifth time it made an obnoxious beeping sound. Viktor had been sending him texts, apparently. Yuri fumbled around until he could take a picture of himself, scowling at the camera in concentration, the bathrobe Viktor had leant him slipping off his shoulders. He sent it to Viktor, then programmed Viktor's number into his phone.

The response came a good fifteen or twenty minutes later. Viktor was at practice, Yuri knew. That didn't stop him from checking the dark screen of his phone every few seconds to see if he'd missed a notification.

>   
> 10:12 AM  
> Viktor said:  
> Beautiful  
> 

Yuri stared at the text, unsure. He hadn't been fishing for a compliment, he'd just thought Viktor would like it. It took him a while to tap out a return message. He wasn't used to the keyboard and the auto-replace was doing him no favors.

>   
> 10:21 AM  
> You said:  
> send me one  
> 

Again, it took Viktor a while to respond. When he did, it was a picture of him with the rink in the background. He looked exhausted, his hair sweaty and his eyes tired. Yuri fiddled with the picture until he figured out how to zoom in, scanning the rink for any details he recognized. It had been so long ago, he didn't expect to find anything. It looked like a place entirely out of reach. Beyond the walls of the flat, the rest of the world already seemed at a remove.

>   
> 10:47 AM  
> You said:  
> shower before you come back  
> 

They fucked the way Yuri was used to, that night, with Yuri on his back and Viktor's cock inside him, Yuri's nails leaving marks down Viktor's back and Viktor's mouth warm on his neck. They fell asleep tangled up with each other again, Viktor's breath in his hair.

Yuri woke up early enough to walk Makkachin with Viktor the next morning. He let Viktor kiss him in the doorway on his way out to the rink, like Yuri was his kept boy and not the hooker he was paying to play boyfriend. He crawled back in bed as soon as Viktor left and slept away half the day, only waking when Makkachin pawed at his face, whining. There were six texts waiting from Viktor. Two were pictures of the sunrise while he was out jogging, one was a selfie, one was a message asking if he was awake with a follow-up message telling him to have sweet dreams.

The last was a picture of the rink, empty. It seemed like Viktor had zoomed out as far as he could, capturing as much of it as he could frame in the shot. Yuri's heart squeezed tight in his chest. That one had only been sent a minute ago. As he was staring at it, another text came in.

>   
> 11:02 AM  
> Viktor said:  
> My second home

Yuri took Makkachin out to the fenced courtyard behind the building. He could feel people staring at him. He'd only brought one pair of clothes, so he was dressed in Viktor's, tripping over the sweatpants when he tried to walk. He caught sideways glances and the sound of whispering as he passed, and kept his head up while Makkachin sniffed every corner of the courtyard, looking for the best place to do her business.

Yuri took a selfie with Makkachin and sent it to Viktor. He tried to push the picture of the rink out of his mind, but it lingered, like the empty ice was beckoning. For a wild moment Yuri wondered if he could convince Viktor to take him along to a practice, but he threw the thought away as soon as it crossed his mind.

Viktor came home with a slump to his shoulders. Yuri sucked him off against the front door, one hand down his borrowed sweatpants. They came at the same time. Yuri thought that only happened in bad porn.

The cleaning service came the next day. Yuri watched them work with an itch under his skin. Part of him wanted to help. Part of him caught the older woman throwing glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking, nostrils flared wide like she smelled something bad. Yuri shut the door behind them, remembering how much he didn't belong in Viktor's expensive flat with his paid help and his haughty neighbors.

>   
> 12:14 PM  
> You said:  
> can i post any of this stuff  
> 12:15 PM  
> You said:  
> like an instagram or something  
> 

>   
> 12:22 PM  
> Viktor said:  
> You can post whatever you want  
> 12:24 PM  
> Viktor said:  
> Unless it's us together  
> 12:24 PM  
> Viktor said:  
> Not yet  
> 

Yuri let out a harsh bark of laughter and pressed the touch screen harder than he needed to while he was downloading the Instagram app. He knew what _not yet_ meant in this case. Viktor had an image to maintain, probably still had sponsorships to keep. It would be career suicide to dangle a teenage hooker in front of their nose. _Not yet_ meant _not ever_.

He had to stop angrily registering for Instagram when he realized he didn't have an email address, or a VK, or any other presence in the regular, online world that everyone else seemed to frequent. He made a Twitter as soon as he was done with his Instagram and spent the rest of the day pushing the cold feeling in his chest aside. He didn't know why it bothered him. It wasn't like he was going to let Viktor keep him.

Yuri rode Viktor that night, the muscles in his thighs burning by the time he wrung Viktor's orgasm out of him. Viktor jerked him off, thumb playing at the edge of the foreskin, teasing until Yuri felt like he was going to scream.

Yuri slept late and missed Viktor leaving in the morning. He paced the apartment, feeling weirdly unsettled, and eventually left, looking for something to do. The cash Viktor had been paying him felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket. Yuri had never made so much so quickly, and all he had to do was stay around Viktor's apartment and fuck him when he got home. He was too practical to lie to himself and say the streets were better. This was better by a mile.

He just didn't know why it made him feel left behind when Viktor walked out the door in the morning. It wasn't like Viktor was obligated to him. He could be out fucking other people, and as long as he was still paying Yuri by the day, Yuri would be there when he got home.

Yuri sent Viktor a flurry of selfies from his day out. He took a cab because he could, ate a hot meal cooked by someone else because he could, bought new clothes because he could. He left the store and immediately ducked into another bathroom, tearing the tags off and getting dressed in something besides Viktor's clothes, still too baggy on him. He looked himself over in the mirror - black jacket, leopard print on the sleeves; black jeans, hugging his thighs and calves; new trainers, the white rubber pristine. The shirt was his best find, tucked away in the window of a secondhand shop, a roaring tiger on its front. Yuri stuck his tongue out at the camera and took another picture for Viktor.

>   
> 2:17 PM  
> Viktor said:  
> You look good  
> 2:19 PM  
> Viktor said:  
> You look like you're having fun  
> 

Yuri hadn't thought of _fun_ entering into it. He was indulging in his chance to finally have the mountain of things he'd ignored for so long, because they were so far out of his reach he couldn't even hope for them. When he thought about it, though, he guessed the day had been fun. It was fun not to worry about deciding between a hotel room or his next meal.

He hadn't spent everything. He was keeping at least half of the money in reserve, for when this week ended and Yuri had to go back to making his way. He couldn't stay any longer than that; his presence would complicate Viktor's life, and after Viktor had given him this chance to get back ahead -- the money from this week would cushion the rest of his earnings for a time, maybe long enough to build up a deposit for a real flat -- he didn't want to do anything that would make it all backfire.

He'd been looking for something all day, to buy for Viktor in return for everything he'd done. Yuri knew Viktor didn't see it that way; he was paying Yuri for a service, and Yuri was providing it, but Yuri didn't like feeling like he owed Viktor something. And, Yuri realized as he stared at a pair of leopard print throw pillows, a deep part of him wanted to leave his mark on Viktor's sterile flat, proof that another human had come inside and seen him for who he was.

Viktor was too tired to have sex that night, though he did smile achingly bright at the new throw pillows. Yuri felt an itch between his skin as they ate dinner, then relaxed on the couch afterward. If they weren't fucking, it was like they were something else, and Yuri wouldn't touch that.

He showered with Viktor before bed, helping him wash sweat from his body, gentle on the purpling bruises he had on his elbow and knee. As his soapy hands trailed over Viktor's skin, Viktor sighed from the depths of his chest, weary. Yuri kissed his back between the shoulderblades and took Viktor's cock in his hand, working it slowly to hardness and then to orgasm while Viktor braced against the shower wall, sucking in breaths through clenched teeth.

In the dark, later, Yuri lay awake like he usually did, listening to Viktor breathe. About the time his eyes started to finally slip closed, Viktor spoke. His voice would have made Yuri jump if his body wasn't already weighed down with impending sleep.

"I'm going to retire," Viktor said, into the blackness of the bedroom. "I don't want to do it anymore."

Yuri sat up slowly. The only light in the room came from a sliver of moonlight, peeking in through the crack in the curtains. "You don't want to do what, win?"

"What's the point of winning if there's nobody I could lose to?" Viktor asked. Yuri didn't know how to answer that.

"Is that why you're trying to make me stay?" Yuri hadn't brought it up since they'd discussed payment that first night. Viktor left a stack of bills on the nightstand every morning, and Yuri was in the apartment when he got home. "You're going to retire, so you want a hot piece of ass to have fun with while your dick is still working?"

"I'm not even thirty yet," Viktor said, trying for indignation and missing the mark. He sounded tired. Yuri tried to imagine retiring at thirty, but he had a hard time even imagining thirty. It seemed a lifetime away.

"I've seen you skate," Yuri said, into the silence that had fallen between them.

Viktor let it fall without disturbance into the air, a single drop in a still pond. His breath had gone almost silent. Yuri wished he could take it back. He wished he could say it again so he could be sure Viktor heard.

"I know," Viktor said at last, and Yuri turned to face him, trying to see his eyes in the dim light. "Yakov's training camp, around six years ago. You must have been ten. I remember you."

"You what?"

Yuri was glad he said it in the dark, when the light came in the window from behind Yuri, throwing his face into shadow. He didn't want Viktor to see the look he knew was on it, wide-eyed and shocked. Too vulnerable. Too much. Yuri's hands itched for his clothes. He had to get out of this place, this dreamspace that felt like a bubble removed from the rest of the world.

"I asked Yakov about you, when you disappeared. You had talent. Potential. I was twenty-one and an idiot and I could see it. He told me you couldn't pay the fees and had to drop out." Viktor's voice was so soft, Yuri had to strain to hear it. "When I first saw you on the street, I convinced myself I was making it up. Then I saw you move and I knew I was right. That kind of raw talent is unique. It had to be you."

Yuri's head spun. He clutched at the sheets so hard he thought he might rip them. "You asked about me."

"You wanted it so badly I could see it in every line of your body," Viktor said. He sat up in bed, too, wrapping his arms around Yuri's waist from behind. "I was there, once. I remember how that felt. I wanted to watch it happen for you the way it had happened for me. I wanted you to rival me someday, so I'd actually have a challenge out there."

"Did you _want_ me?" Yuri asked, his stomach curdling at the thought. Whether Viktor recognized the boy he'd been at ten the first time he'd picked Yuri up, they'd fucked all the same. As far as Yuri had known, it was because Viktor had wanted him _then_ , when they first met. When Yuri remembered meeting him.

"You were _ten_ ," Viktor said, his body flinching away in the dark, recoiling from the suggestion of it. That kind of shock couldn't be faked. Some of the panic beating against Yuri's ears bled away.

Yuri almost said, _you'd be surprised_ , but held it back. Viktor didn't need to see the ugly parts of his soul. What Viktor wanted was the boy he'd seen so many years ago, a boy on fire to be the best.

"I can't give you that," Yuri said instead.

"I don't want that now," Viktor said. "I told you, I'm retiring. Makkachin is getting old. I don't speak with my family. Yakov won't have much use for me once I'm not skating anymore." Viktor's arms tightened around him.

"You want me to, what, be your live-in because you're bored and lonely?" The lump in Yuri's throat tasted bitter. He should have listened to his instincts.

"I want _you_ , Yura," Viktor said, resting his head on Yuri's shoulder. "Nobody else. Say you'll stay with me."

Across the room his eyes caught on the medals, the only evidence in the entire flat of who Viktor was. The only person he knew how to be. Yuri wondered when the last time was that Viktor had someone to wake up next to in the morning. It was probably why he curled around Yuri at night like Yuri was a security blanket, wrapping him up in limbs.

This epiphany was even less welcome than the others. Despite all the rational things in him that told him it was a bad idea, Yuri wanted to stay. Not because of the money, or the phone, or any of the things that were better for Yuri this week than they were last week. Because of Viktor.

"You wake up too early." Yuri knew it was a lame excuse, but he needed _something_. Viktor was trying to keep him, and Yuri didn't let himself be kept.

"Not for much longer. Worlds isn't that far away, and then I'm done."

"I'm not cleaning for you, or cooking for you, or whatever. And you're still paying me."

"If you keep charging me your daily rate, even I'll go broke," Viktor laughed.

"I don't take fucking charity," Yuri spat, killing the attempt at a joke. "You're not rescuing me, or whatever."

Viktor took a minute to answer. "Do you still want to take other clients?"

"I hate my other clients," Yuri said, quicker than he'd meant to. It was the truth. He hated every single one of them, except Viktor.

The laugh Viktor let out this time was too knowing. "I don't want to own you. I want you to stay because you want to."

Yuri thought of the way Viktor looked when he woke up in the morning, like a watercolor sketch slowly being filled with color from the faint glow of the sun. He thought of walking Makkachin, feeling the neighbors' eyes like daggers between his shoulders, and looking down to see her wagging her tail at him. He thought of St. Petersburg in the winter with no heat, feeling like his toes would fall off. He thought of being ten years old, the smell of sweat and rubber mats all around him, and imagined a younger Viktor watching him in anticipation.

It wasn't salvation Viktor was offering, Yuri realized.

"I'm not easy to keep."

"I want to anyway," Viktor said. "I want you to keep me, too."

Yuri let Viktor pull him back down to the bed. His rules were running through his head again, the ones he'd survived on for so long.

"Buy me new clothes," he demanded sleepily. "Not tacky shit."

"Whatever you want, Yura," Viktor said, against the skin of his neck. "Anything you want."

Yuri fell asleep dreaming of the cold. The pictures Viktor had sent him made it new and alive in his mind, the bite of skate blades into the ice and the particular thrust of a body into the air, fighting g-forces and winning. He remembered the thud of a landing and the way blood beat behind his eardrums while he held a spin, vision whirling into a blur. 

He jolted awake just before dawn, when the front door closed to announce Viktor was back from jogging with Makkachin. Yuri threw the blankets aside, his heart thumping against the back of his ribs. Reaching out for his phone was automatic as he rolled out of bed. He clutched it in his hand as he dashed out of the bedroom. Viktor was in the kitchen, stirring jam into two cups of tea.

"I know what I want," he said, like sleep had never happened between their conversation last night and now.

Viktor leaned against the counter, tea cradled in his hand, and watched Yuri through the rising steam. Yuri could feel his next three heartbeats, as he lifted his phone and took a picture, Viktor's hair turned as golden as his own in the dawn.

"A picture?" Viktor asked, a halo of delight shining from his face. "You can take a thousand pictures of me, Yura."

Yuri shook his head, tapping through the phone settings to switch Potya to the lock screen and Viktor in the sunrise to his background picture.

"This isn't it," Yuri said.

Viktor looked, if possible, even more delighted that Yuri had just wanted a picture of him. "What is it?"

Yuri had to make himself say the words. He'd given up on it so long ago, forced himself to stop hoping for impossible dreams, that now it felt like tempting fate to even let the words out of his mouth.

"I want to skate again," Yuri said.

Viktor's incredible blue eyes went wide, his perfect lips parting as his mouth opened on surprise. He set his tea aside and pushed off the counter, coming to catch Yuri's face in both of his hands.

"I'll coach you myself. You still move like a dancer, Yura. You can still be good."

Yuri turned his head and bit Viktor's hand, glaring at him. "I'll be _great_ , just fucking watch me."

Viktor kissed him, then kissed his cheeks, his nose, his forehead. Yuri let his face be turned, swallowing down the tangle of emotion snarled up around his heart. He thought about his rules, one more time, as Viktor's mouth found his again.

Fuck the rules. They were made to be broken.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Live With Me" by the Rolling Stones.
> 
> Prior to the beginning of the story, Yuri's grandfather has passed away. It's mentioned a couple times in-story. Potya is with a former neighbor in Moscow, but still alive.


End file.
